Art or activism? The Oscars’ identity crisis
What is the point of cinema? For most people: entertainment; for some: art. And for a few: a means of shaping attitudes. Such purposes are not mutually exclusive – just ask Ken Loach (or even, perhaps, the Nazi propagandist Leni Riefenstahl).
Proudly political engagement isn’t new. The movies fought the cold war, decried Vietnam and took sides on many grand issues of the past.
What is new is an increasing onus on films – awards films in particular – to clearly flag their ideological allegiances. And, after being scolded for dragging its feet, the industry is eagerly complying. Minorities’ stories are being told and their causes championed; diversity is gathering pace on screen and behind the camera.
Of course, worthy purpose can invigorate. Artistic achievement can be galvanised by having something important to say. Nonetheless, advancing a message is different from pursuing excellence. These objectives won’t necessarily be aligned.
Why should they? After all, trying to engineer a better society should clearly trump mere aesthetics. Cinema’s leading lights can seem to prioritise the progressive cause above all else, to judge by their pronouncements; however, many filmgoers have yet to see the light. In the service of righteousness, the big screen risks leaving its enthusiasts behind. Whether this will happen remains to be seen, but perhaps Sunday’s verdicts will give us a hint of what is to come.
The claim of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences to represent industry thinking is often derided. Oscars voters have long been disproportionately pale, male and stale and their selections have frequently been mocked. Now, though, steps have been taken to diversify the membership: female and ethnic minority participation has doubled in the past few years.
Hollywood’s share of global cinema may be small and shrinking: its major studios have delivered only one of the eight nominees for best picture. Yet, for now, Hollywood’s historic contest retains its glittering crown. This year’s ceremony may be the least watched for decades, but its decisions will still be telling. The field from which its choices will be made provides not just cinematic quality, but also an impressive reflection of current social concerns.
It is only six years since the #OscarsSoWhite uproar. Now, however, of 20 acting nominees, nine are people of colour; most of the candidates for best actor are not white. Two women have been recognised in the best director category for the first time.
The best picture list boasts a feminist parable in the shape of Promising Young Woman, a Black rallying cry in Judas and the Black Messiah, a salute to immigrants in Minari, a story of minority ethnic disability in Sound of Metal and an anti-establishment carnival in The Trial of the Chicago 7. Ranged against these are Mank – which, as a clever-clever feast of Hollywood self-love, might have been the favourite in days of yore – and The Father, an all-white, male-dominated exercise in value-free virtuosity.
Yet the bookies’ frontrunner by a long way is none of the above. It is Nomadland, the almost-documentary about life among the RV-homed, itinerant underclass who wander between the US’s trailer camps. Its director, Chloé Zhao, is Asian American. Only one female-directed film has won best picture (Kathryn Bigelow’s The Hurt Locker) and this factor alone must have weighed heavily with Academy voters keen to get with the programme.
Zhao’s film records the lives of people who deserve better, but have been short-changed by an unjust world. It applauds their resourcefulness, indomitability and humanity. So far, so good, in terms of social justice credentials, but, as a campaigning blueprint, Nomadland doesn’t bear close inspection. Its charismatic characters don’t see themselves as victims. Instead of railing against late capitalism, they seem puzzlingly content with their fate.
The hero, Fern (Frances McDormand), loses her job when her company town is hit by corporate closure. Nonetheless, she chooses life on the road not solely out of necessity, but also as a way to mourn her dead husband and find her own way forward. When comfortable suburban Americans offer her a home, she turns them down, opting instead for old-fashioned self-reliance. Unforgivably for some, she even seems to enjoy being exploited in one of Amazon’s warehouses.
If this seems heedlessly dismissive of progressive orthodoxy, Zhao is unrepentant. She said in September: “I tried to focus on the human experience and things that I feel go beyond political statements, to be more universal.” Time, then, to consider this top seed’s claim to aesthetic excellence.
There are those who find the film exquisite, but it is hardly a cinematic masterpiece. It saunters through its gorgeous landscapes without tension or jeopardy to no particular effect. Sentimentality saps its portrayal of the community it celebrates: the human flotsam Fern encounters include none of the bad folks that their way of life must inevitably attract.
So, perhaps the favourite has fallen between two stools. If so, we could see the biggest upset since Moonlight pipped La La Land in 2016. This might deliver a stark conflict between politics and art. None of the crusading nominees is badly made. Yet if excellence were the sole criterion, it is hard to believe that it wouldn’t be The Father which would bag the statuette.
Florian Zeller’s startling account of the impact of dementia might have landed a blow for better treatment of mental illness, a reasonably fashionable topic. Instead, it avoids any such pretension, focusing on conveying human experience without a hint of interest in any cause. In doing so, it yields insight, horror and heartbreak on such a level that compliance with dogma, however well intentioned, would inevitably have inhibited. In comparison, The Father’s politically committed rivals lose much of their lustre.
Promising Young Woman hits the spot in terms of current preoccupations in a way of which its makers could only have dreamed. It has successfully provided a totem pole for angry women to rally around. Yet doing this through a stylised, cartoonish romp ensures that the real issues are avoided. The sweet vengefulness of Carey Mulligan’s Cassie makes no sense psychologically; nor does the instant penitence of her victims. Never mind – it is all as fantastical as a romcom; it is full of fun and twisty turns. Yet, as such, it obscures rather than illuminates its subject. In the end, it just tells us that rape is bad.
Other progressive candidates on the best picture list are less evasive, yet, on the whole, their tales comfort more than they illuminate. It is easier to challenge the system faced by the Chicago 7 than the more perplexing institutional failures of our day. Our racial woes are no longer those faced half a century ago by the Black Panther Fred Hampton. Taken together, these films can hardly claim that their social relevance preempts other considerations.
Nonetheless, according to the bookies, every one of them stands a better chance than The Father of knocking Nomadland from the top slot. This may tell us which way the wind is blowing, but perhaps it is time for film-makers to start blowing back, at least a little.